


Mama, I'm Coming Home

by whatsacleverusername



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Attempted Murder, Drug Use, Dubious Consent, F/M, Inspired by Music, M/M, Past Abuse, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-22
Updated: 2019-06-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 08:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19314112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsacleverusername/pseuds/whatsacleverusername
Summary: It happened two weeks and three days ago. It was a Saturday.





	Mama, I'm Coming Home

"Take that ring off!" 

The fury in her eyes told Jonathan he would do better to listen, but the small hint of defiance still left in his aching bones told him he wasn't clear which ring she meant.

As if reading his mind, Linda snatched his left wrist and held that hand in front of his face, shouting, "take the damn thing off!"

Something in him cracking, he reflexively started, "but-"

"No!" Linda cut him off. "No buts! Take it off!"

"What about the other one?" Jonathan asked, stalling while he searched for some reason to keep it.

"I don't care what you do with it!" she nearly screamed. Suddenly turning towards a quieter, loving tone, she clasped his hand and asked, "honey, please? You're just hurting yourself more, keeping that thing around. Just hand it to me."

God, she even pleads like… With an icy sigh, he pulled his hand away and hesitantly slid the little blue nth metal band from his ring finger. Linda didn't wait for him to think twice, snatching it from him and scratching his knuckle with a claw-like nail.

"There we are," she smiled, a disgusting sickly white taunt, pale as her vampire like skin. Standing up from the bed and walking towards the door, she added, "go ahead and get your glasses and such, dear, then come join me in the lab. I need your help with something."

She didn't wait for his reply. The door closed behind her, the sound of piercing air slicing past his ear in the drafty cell-like room. Overly soft bed and cushy furniture or not, it felt like the walls moved an inch further in each morning. It _has_ been like that for weeks, the photographs and plaster figurines staring down at him like homely versions of Gotham's infamous gargoyles, inciting a feeling of constant observation. He wouldn't put it past her, knowing her as unfortunately well as he does. He could swear he's caught a red gleam in the photo of what must be her mother, though whether that was the paranoia or reality was difficult to discern. With another heart wrenching sigh to ail no one but himself, he did as he was told, grabbing both his less than desirable lab coat and the discreet black cardboard container from a drawer in his nightstand. Whether the "something" she wanted help with was chemical or physical, he'd rather not have to argue about her vagueness again. Christ, he hoped it isn't the latter _again_ … He finds himself twisting the base of his ring finger, a nervous habit leading him to seek an illusion of close proximity to him, leaving Jonathan with naught but a sudden nakedness and desire to curl away in a hole and never come back out. Not that he'd be missed.

 

It happened two weeks and three days ago. It was a Saturday. It was _supposed_ to be a night together, but _resulted_ in five uninvited guests, an attempted mugging, a narrow escape from the Bat, and an undercooked steak. Among other travesties. Jonathan had begun to feel as though he was bringing his partner down, complaining and carrying on as he did when stressed, and he would have thanked Edwin for his thorough affirmation if he hadn't been drowning in the effort to not cry as the most patient man he had ever met threw him out. Not bodily, of course not, but it was a miracle some of his more delicate equipment survived the drop from a fifth story window onto the wet pavement below. Edwin never raised a hand against him, the darling man could never, which only made Jonathan feel worse about the whole thing. He was used to being hit. He was used to being hit by _people he loved_. He could deal with that, he had to learn how. That… That was different. Disappointment. Contained anger. How was he supposed to be mad back when the worst he did was firmly tell him to leave?

Linda Friitawa found him two and a half days later, a little past noon, shuddering in the cold rain. The ratty coat he tugged around him did nothing but drench him further and hold his smaller possessions. He hardly recognized her, attributed to the foggy glasses and nearly complete change in her appearance. She looked normal for one, especially compared to the last time he saw her, strapped up in Arkham, face gaunt like a rotting corpse. Of course, he could never forget that voice. So deceptively sweet and caring, damnably almost motherly. If he didn’t remember painfully well what she was capable of, he would have fallen hard for her all over again. “Nearly as bad” was bad enough, though. It was like a horrible montage of mistake, put to suffocating silence instead of music; she called out to him, he looked up; she brushed a soaked lock away from his face, he didn’t flinch away; she pressed her hand against his cheek, he used his hand to hold hers there; she kissed him, he automatically gave in, even returned it after a moment. Looking back, it was like a careening coal train on fire, every track dragging its crew further towards a hellish ending. Not that he could do much now.

Looking over her shoulder as he entered the sub basement, Linda cheerfully said, “come over here, darling, I need you to hold something.”

Immediately seeing the trap but feeling powerless to avoid it, Jonathan does as he was told, taking hold of a pair of test tubes between his fingers. She instructs him further, more than making up for his lack of interest in speaking, subtly inching closer to him as if he hadn’t been watching her closely. Finally beginning the end of that godawful charade, she pretends to bump into him, nearly causing him to drop a graduated cylinder he’d been handed. Before he can turn away from the cylinder and look at her, she had already stolen his glasses, yet he could still see that horrid, beautiful smile cutting through her icy pale face.

Carefully choosing his words, Jonathan said, “I need my glasses if we’re to continue working.”

“You won’t be needing them for these next few steps,” she practically purred to him, taking the cylinder from his hand and trapping him with the other on his chest.

Tensing as her other arm returns to snake around his neck, barely managing to rest her elbow on his shoulder while on tiptoes, he looked down at her. He dared not to close one eye to see her better else she took it for a wink, not when he may still be able to weasel his way out of this. Damn his anisometropia.

“Shouldn’t we mind the solution?” he tried again. “The acid…”

“You know better than me that acid is contained for the time being,” she shot down. Spreading her fingers and running her palm against his chest, feeling him through his shirt, she added, “more than enough time for _us_.”

She knew better than to let him keep searching for an excuse. He was more than capable of finding one with that brilliant mind of his. She pulled his head down suddenly, initiating a kiss that dispelled any hope of him escaping, running her hand down his arm to guide his hand to her hip. Backing him up to a wall, she resumed her roaming twofold, her hand brushing against a spot that drew a low sound of warning from his lips. A sound he thought he’d learned to repress after too many solitary interactions with one ex head of Arkham security. He braced for a smack, a jab, _something_ , but only found the offending hand sneaking closer towards him. Heaven knew he tried not to loll his head back and give in, but he could hardly make it down the stairs just moments ago. He was too tired to fight anymore, much less attempt to please her in her favorite cat and mouse routine. _Oh Christ_ , he thought to himself as he struggled not to move under her roaming hands, _how did I let her happen again?_

 

He woke up next in his bed, halfway sunk into the old mattress. Everything hurt. There were new chemical burns on his hands and wrists. They didn’t hurt, but there they were. He would rather not try to recall how they came about. Instead, he planted unsteady feet on hardwood floor, a hand quickly finding its place in clutching his aching head. When the darkness stopped spinning, he looked up towards a window, taking in the pinprick lights peppered into the Gotham City night. He didn’t have to look to know it wasn’t the same night as last he was conscious, something disgusted with himself told him so. A few tears slipped from his resolve, only a few, landing heavy on his bare knees. He tried to stand up, but found the room spinning yet again and sat back down with a dull thud. He can’t keep doing this…

 

She sat across from him, obviously enjoying her coffee and cream. She smiled, oblivious to the smoldering look thinly veiled behind glazed eyes and circular spectacles. They almost appeared as a happy couple, Jonathan holding the newspaper in his lap while Linda took a sip from her cup. Like one of those revoltingly cheesy illustrations of a 50’s couple. Save for the blood at the edge of the newspaper, covering up much of the crossword hints on page 16. Of course she doesn’t notice. Jonathan hardly did, only relieving some pressure and going to wash the bits of newspaper and flecks of skin from under his nails. She said something to him as he passed by, but he couldn’t hear her over the same red liquid roaring in his ears. It would be so simple. It isn’t like this was new territory for his criminal record. Anyone would do the same after a month and a half locked up with _her_. He reached for the knife after he finished cleaning his hands, not bothering to bandage them. She wasn’t even moving to watch him. It’s her own fault for not keeping an eye on him, giving him such wild freedom. Hell, he should have done this to begin with. It would have saved both of them so much trouble. She might as well thank-

“Jonathan,” she said calmly, continuing to read the book resting on the kitchen table. 

He stopped just a few feet away from her, knife readied, arm coiled like an angry viper ready to strike.

“Drop the knife.”

He stared daggers at the back of her head, willing her ivory locks to catch aflame. He may very well have even succeeded, but he let his arm hang at his side once more, the knife clattering to the floor.

At last turning to him, she tutted and stood up, holding up his hands and scolding, “now look what you’ve done. You’ve gone and hurt yourself. You know I hate it when you do that.”

He found himself automatically mumbling apologies despite himself, letting her guide him back to the sink and carefully washing the red lines where his nails had pierced his skin. Degrading himself more, he slumped against her as the fury fueled adrenaline left his system, his head resting against her shoulder. She laughed lightly, saying something about him needing more sleep. He didn’t hear her. He didn’t care. He was more than willing to let the blackness wash over him as his legs fell out from under him.

 

He’d figured it out yesterday. Ketamine and some other drugs in his _coffee_ , ironically. He’d been making them for her. Two months he’d been making drugs to keep himself nice and compliant as she used him for whatever she wanted. No amount of sleep chased away the headaches now. He could feel the world rotate now. It was more than unpleasant. He was drawn from his thoughts as she called to him from the living room, a coquettish tone to her sing song voice. He felt his legs mindlessly carry him towards the sound. Was it the drugging, or was he really stupid enough to still love her? She turned him into a literal monster for fuck’s sake, fangs, real claws, and all! Yet he let himself be pulled onto the couch, pushed over onto his back, an arm lamely hanging off the side. He’d make some noise in protest if he could remember how. All he could bring himself to do was close his eyes and give up.

 

The smell of burning wood was what finally woke him again. Then there was the shouting.

“Get up, god damn you!” Linda shouted, pulling at his arm, nearly taking the underweight man off the couch.

“What?” he asked, blinking away a mixture of sleep and smoke.

Shouting from out the open window cut Linda off, then the sound of wood cracking. He didn’t register when he was thrown to the floor, only that a dull pain in his shoulder joined the already present cacophony of screaming nerves. What could only have been a moment later, he was being pulled out of the way as a support beam fell through the floor where he had just been. He’s pulled to his feet and pushed in a direction, leading him to blindly flee that way. The sounds of the house crumbling around him threatened to overwhelm his sluggish mind, and yet, in a moment of clarity, he managed to duck into the empty fireplace just as the ceiling above him crashed down in a pile of flames. He nearly passed out again, but caught himself. Pulling up his shirt to cover his nose and mouth, he took his chance and bolted into the fiery storm.

 

Removing himself from the burning wreckage a few moments later, Jonathan stepped through the smoldering doorway, fortunately without a door as he didn't have the strength to open one. He could hardly register the short man rushing over to him, but once he did, a sudden weakness had him collapsing in the man's arms.

"Jonathan!" The call guided his eyes open, his mind unclear of how long they were closed. Long enough to be moved to the sidewalk and laid out over it, his head and shoulders resting in a familiar lap. Turning, he recognized the bookish face looking down at him, concern creasing the unusually pallid forehead, smudges of ash mixing with light freckles. A view even Michelangelo couldn't reproduce half as beautifully.

"Jonathan, can you hear me?" Edwin called again, wet streaks shining through the ash on his cheeks.

A drop of wet landed on his feverish skin as he racked his mind for the ability of speech, finally giving up and weakly reaching a hand up in answer. He hardly had time to wipe away a tear, as he had intended to do, before he was suddenly engulfed in a tight embrace. He could feel Edwin's heart thumping rapidly against his shoulder, breaking the final spell overtaking his mind.

"I'm sorry." A simple whisper passed Jonathan's lips, more so of its own accord, though the deep sense of regret was all his doing.

"Shh, no, Jon, no," Edwin soothed between sharp breaths. "I'm sorry. I lost my patience, I shouldn't have- Oh, fuck, I'm so sorry, dear, I'm so, so sorry…"

Jonathan could only lay against this Earthbound angel and listen to his apologies, despite the immediate need to comfort him. The haze of exhaustion and probable fever was overtaking him again, until a clear thought struck through the veil.

"I lost it," Jonathan said evenly, but with the subtle inflection of someone drowning in regret.

Somewhat recollecting himself, Edwin asked, "lost… Lost what?"

Breathe. Jonathan forced himself to take a steadying breath. He couldn't have a total breakdown, not now. He might die from exhaustion if he did.

"Your-" Jonathan answered plainly again, a betraying wavering in his voice increasing with each correction. "My- O-Our-... The ring. She took… I lost it."

Edwin looked at him for a moment before a restrained smile broke through his tears, a quick hand retrieving a flash of blue from a breast pocket as he gently said, "I found it just before you stumbled out. You didn't- Darling, it's okay. Don't… Oh, Jon."

He couldn't help it anymore. He couldn't help the hot tears burning down his face, soaking into the soft button up Edwin had on. The delicate touch of Edwin's hand against his head only opened the floodgates further, his hand grabbing ahold of Edwin's arm and clinging for dear life. It tore him up to Hell to think he nearly ruined them, and it tore him back to have Edwin forgive him so readily. The poor fool seemed to have _missed_ him, even. How did he ever deserve him? He certainly didn’t deserve having to deal with Jonathan. No one did, but most of all darling, loving Edwin. He tried to communicate all of this, but only a few small whimpers managed to break through the sobs.

Jonathan was so caught up in their reunion that he almost missed an odd rectangular shape in Edwin’s other pocket, managing to guide shaky fingers to extract a book of matches. He knew what it was despite his limited vision, a stark sense of familiarity with the tool of destruction, and looked up at Edwin.

“It was the quickest way to get her to leave,” Edwin confessed, taking the matches back. “I didn’t mean to- Had I known the place was that flammable-”

Forcing an arm to raise up, Jonathan wrapped it around the back of Edwin’s neck, using it to pull himself up and bury his face against the other’s shoulder. The other quickly finds its way to curl around Edwin’s back. Evidently he communicated his point perfectly, Edwin swallowing his panicked apologies and letting himself rest his head against Jonathan’s, cradling his upper body once more. He’ll need to arrange a ride for them to one of their more discreet hide outs eventually, but for now… Wiping a tear from Jonathan’s cheek, Edwin takes off his jacket and wraps it around his dear _Honigbär_. They could finally be home again.


End file.
